Chapter 8
Luke
When the lights of the cabin turn on and everyone is stirring to prepare for landing, Harper sits up, apparently having spent most of the flight leaning forward, resting her head against the back of the chair.
It couldn’t have been comfortable, because when she opens her eyes, she grimaces. The hair that had been neatly braided back is now a mess, falling out around her face in frizzy tangles. I catch myself smiling at her, and she gives me a tired grin in return.
The entire flight, I had to stop myself from pulling the armrest up and wrapping my arms around Harper so the two of us could just lean into each other for sleep.
And eventually the arm rest did get pulled up, but somehow when the tiny thing that was physically separating us was taken away, we managed to pull farther apart.
I didn’t intend to confront Harper the way Wes wanted me to, but I wondered if maybe I could just avoid all this mess.
A tiny, hopeful part of me thought of how different things would be if she felt the same way.
But judging by how hard she tried to put a gap of space between us, it would only end in a ruined friendship.
If Harper were even remotely interested in me, I’d like to think she’d at least put her head on my shoulder, but instead, when I leaned my head on her—which should be known, happened in my sleep—she couldn’t seem to get far enough away.
Which I get, I guess. I’m not her boyfriend.
But Harper has always been very physical.
Not just with me, but with all her friends.
She’s the type of girl to hug someone every time she sees them, or hold your hand when she’s talking animatedly about something.
Heck, when she has a drink or two, she becomes even more of a lovebug, hugging and hanging off people like she physically needs the affection to survive.
The plane ride felt off at best, but perhaps I’m being too paranoid because of Wes. Harper and I are best friends, but we’ve never gone on a trip like this, just the two of us. It’s uncharted territory.
With a soft thud, the plane lands, and everyone leans forward in unison as we touch down.
The PA comes on. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Reykjavik. Local time is 5:56 a.m.”
The announcement continues, but I don’t catch most of what it says, because my eyes are on Harper, who’s gone from fast asleep to wide awake in the span of a few minutes. It’s like someone has injected caffeine into her. She’s wide awake now.
“We’re in Iceland!” she squeals, leaning over me to look out the window.
§
It takes a while for us to find a place to buy a SIM card for my phone and the correct rental car pickup. By the time we get all the suitcases loaded up into the car, it is 7:20 a.m. in Iceland, but our bodies think it’s 2:20 a.m. The couple of hours on the flight were definitely not enough sleep.
Though Harper was bouncing with excitement when we landed, the tasks of picking up luggage and the rental car are enough to kill her buzz. The lack of sleep is catching up with both of us, and I can tell she is forcing herself to keep her morale up even though she needs more rest.
“Where to first?” I ask, buckling up behind the steering wheel.
Originally Harper was going to drive, but after I remind her who has fewer speeding tickets, she lets me be written in as the driver for the rental car.
She rattles off the address of the hotel, her face in her phone. Then she frowns.
“What?” I ask.
“Check-in isn’t until one p.m.”
“That’s fine. We can just sightsee.” I’m hoping to cheer her up, but her response is just a faint smile that she’s putting on for my sake.
I consider offering that we could just take a nap in the car, but I know nothing about this country, let alone finding a safe place to park long enough to sleep.
We drive into the city, hoping that we can at least find a place to eat breakfast. Reykjavik is the capital of Iceland.
Unlike large cities at home, there are plenty of big buildings, but only a small handful of skyscrapers, not more than about twenty stories.
They’re only in a small section of the city, tucked away.
In fact, most of the buildings look old, the architecture worthy of admiration.
We drive by a row of what looks like apartments, and each section of the building is painted a different bright color.
The only truly tall building is a massive church with a steeple so tall, it seems to tower over the entire city.
It’s apparently iconic, because when I Googled Reykjavik, the building popped up in most photos, with tourists posing in front of the pointed structure.
Seeing it in person now, I can understand why.
Everything else in the city seems small and tame in comparison to this massive structure.
The city feels old in the same way the city of Boston feels old. Like the cobblestone streets are the same streets from hundreds of years ago. But where Boston feels crowded and cramped, Reykjavik feels open and airy.
The city is hugged on every side by either ocean or glacier-topped mountains in the distance.
There aren’t many people out as we drive.
At this time of morning, I would have expected the streets to be buzzing with people going to work, but there’s just a small handful of locals milling about.
It’s nice to drive in a city that doesn’t feel overcrowded.
Within a few minutes, I find a parking spot near one of the small cafés.
It takes me a bit to figure out how to pay for the parking.
“Are you sure that’s right?” Harper says, looking over my shoulder.
We download an app to pay for the parking, which is easy enough to figure out, but according to the app, it’s free between the hours of six p.m. and nine a.m. Harper and I have both frequented cities enough to feel like we’re suddenly getting away with robbery.
I suppose it’s hard to compare this city to anything in the US.
“I put in all the information correctly.” I shrug. “I guess parking in the city is going to be cheaper than we thought.”
Confident that parking is indeed free, we start walking until we find a place for breakfast. I let Harper lead the way.
With the cold Icelandic air hitting her face now, she seems to have a little more pep in her step, especially since as we walk, we can see the massive glacier-coated mountains surrounding us on the outskirts of the city.
She’s tired, but the views around us light her up, keeping her feet moving forward until she steps into a small café. The name—like most Icelandic names—is so long that I don’t even bother trying to pronounce it in my head. I feel like that might be a pattern on this trip.
The hostess greets us, leads us to a small table in the corner, and hands us menus.
Harper looks hers over, trying to stifle a yawn. I’ve seen Harper tired over the years, but never quite like this. On the car ride, she re-braided her hair to make it look neat again, but there are dark circles under her eyes. Somehow, she’s still bright, but I can tell she’s fading.
“What’s the name of our hotel?” I ask. Harper is, of course, in charge of everything and said before that we can’t check into the hotel until later this afternoon, but I’m hoping if I call the place, they might make an exception.
“Hotel Vera,” she says a bit absentmindedly, turning over the menu again. “I’m going to go to the bathroom,” she says, and slips away.
I pull up the hotel’s website on my phone as she disappears around the corner, happy to see that we could walk to the hotel from here if we wanted to. I call the number listed.
“Hotel Vera, how may I help you?” A female voice on the other line answers on the first ring.
“Hi, we just landed from our flight, and I was wondering if it was possible to check in to our room early? I know check-in isn’t until later, but we desperately need to recover from that red-eye flight,” I laugh nervously.
It feels like I’m giving too much information, but I’m hoping that even if it’s against hotel policy, she’ll take mercy on us if she hears our situation.
“I’m sorry, sir. Check-in isn’t until one p.m.”
I feel myself deflate a little. I’m not surprised, really. It was a long shot, but I had to try. I’m about to hang up, but then an idea pops into my head.
“Oh,” I say, giving a long, exasperated sigh. “Okay, I understand. We’re here on our honeymoon, and I was just really hoping I’d be able to let my wife get a nap in after the flight.”
I’m shocked by how easily the lie comes out. It’s mostly a lie, but it’s also a dream. I wish we were here on our honeymoon, but that dream feels bold and distant. And if Harper knew what I was saying? I fear she’d punch-buggy me silly and never let me live to hear the end of it.
The woman on the other end of the line pauses, considering my words.
Come on. Everyone gets extra perks on their honeymoon.
“What’s the name on the reservation?”
I smile. “Harper Evans.”
I hear typing on the other end of the phone and then a brief pause. I brace myself for rejection.
“Give us about an hour and the room will be ready for you.”
I give a sigh of relief. It’s barely nine a.m. and somehow, they’re letting us check into the hotel hours before we’re supposed to.
Honeymoon perks.
“Perfect, thank you so much.”
“Of course. Congratulations on the wedding. We’ll see you soon.”
The line goes quiet, and I put my phone down as Harper rounds the corner, coming back to the table.
I decide to wait to tell her as a fun surprise that we can check in early.
She’ll be pleased that she can have better sleep than whatever she managed when she was stuck between me and the Viking.
I think she’ll be even more surprised to learn that we’re here on our honeymoon.
That’s a secret I’d like to take to the grave.